


anthem for the doomed youth

by toneelspeler



Series: theory of mind [6]
Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Coming Out, Falling In Love, Friendship, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, POV Second Person, Sexuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-02-01 02:12:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12694932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toneelspeler/pseuds/toneelspeler
Summary: You feel a mask, pulling over your face, over the back of your head and swallowing you whole.--isak valtersen's perspective on his sexuality.





	1. Chapter 1

Whenever you watch or read stories about a person coming out – finally telling the truth about themselves to someone or themselves - there’s often the phrase _I always knew I was different_ in it. As if every person inherently knows from a very young age who they are inside and who they are meant to be. Looking back at it now, you still feel hurt that you didn’t always know. Like the God your mother feverishly follows played a trick on you, to make sure _you_ didn’t know until you were a bit older.

You never fell in love. You never had anyone to call your best friend. You just thought it would come later, like your father told you; that he’d never had a relationship before your mother came into his life. You never really cared too much.

Until you were sat down next to a curly-haired boy called Jonas in ungdomsskole.

\--

And then, it still didn’t happen for the longest time. His presence was the start of you opening up, to see other people than those you knew for years by way of being put together for hours at a time. You never connected with anyone as quickly as you did with him.

In the beginning, you still didn’t tell him. When the shouting started, when the crying never stopped, when your parents began to sleep in different rooms. One night, you called him to ask if you could come over, and he must’ve heard the screaming in the background when he tells you _you can always come to me, you know that right?_

So that night, when you’re sleeping on the floor next to him, you’re staring at his face – his relaxed, sleeping face – and there’s a small, _barely_ noticeable skip in your chest. That night you dream about the two of you, and in the morning to only thing you remember is him laughing in your dream.

This is when you find out what having a crush feels like.

\--

In the years after you realise that you are attracted to boys. You’re not able to call yourself gay, even though subconsciously you guess you are, but the word itself is too loud, it’s too big – not something you can see yourself saying anytime soon, or ever.

Your best friend has pulled you towards every party he’s invited to, introduced you to a great amount of people – tells you all about new girlfriends, and their female friends, and how cool it would be _if you would date her, Isak._ And sometimes you do, sometimes you hook up with her, and sometimes you don’t. It’s not like you’re very existentially hating yourself into loving women, you’re just mostly bored around them.

He gets a girlfriend pretty soon, and after a year, he starts dating another one – and this one you like more, she’s nice and you can actually talk to her. She gets your annoyance with his other ‘friend’. Outside of your best friend, she’s the one person you talk the most with. And it surprises you that you get along so well – but, realistically, you know.

He’ll never return your feelings.

\--

When your father leaves, the one person who stays is your best friend – the best friend who feels like the only one in the world who actually cares for you. He comes over and sleeps over every night for a week, keeping you together when the world around you is forcing you apart.

In the past few weeks, you’d been trying to drown out the noise your parents made arguing by drinking alcohol – straight from the bottle, bottles you found in the basement that your father used to lock. During a weak moment, you had sent a message to an Instagram account, a message that you immediately regret sending but whatever.

The world’s not on your side anyway - _why do I have to room with the gay guy; he’s just making a joke; that’s a gay song –_ it has never been.

The resulting drama is one that you had never foreseen when sending that message, and it feels like a double-edged sword; finally, _finally_ , Jonas turns all his attention on you again, and he talks to you about his feelings. But, at the same time, you lose her. Someone you’d call your best friend too. When she confronts you in the kitchen during a girl’s Christmas party, there’s a moment that you think she sees right through you – she must’ve known all along, you’ve been staring too long at him and why _else_ would you cause them to break up?

A small moment where there’s recognition in her eyes, and you freeze – hoping both that she will know and will not know, making it both easier and harder for you to breathe. But she doesn’t, and she won’t.

You feel a mask, pulling over your face, over the back of your head and swallowing you whole.

This – unreal, fake, unrecognisable - is who you have to be now.

\--

One night, in the comfort of your bed, you search for others like you; someone you could find to be around – maybe, soon. Maybe never.

You even open up sites that a little more unsavoury; almost like a test, checking if you’re not faking it – that maybe you’re just _imagining_ being into boys instead of girls, as if it’d be that easy. But seeing the videos, and the bodies, and the movements and sounds – it doesn’t disagree, it confirms.

When you hear your mother muttering on the other side of the wall, you quickly shut down your phone.

It takes an hour to stop your pounding heart from being scared.

\--

The weeks before Christmas are rough, and he’s still around – helping you whenever he can with your mother, as much as you let him in. It feels heavy, like a weight pushing you down wherever you go – caring for your mother. And it shouldn’t be like this, you realise, waiting for your father to make decisions that he never ends up making – leaving you all alone. But you bear it. You’ve always done so.

After Eva leaves you behind on that bench, you find yourself wanting to cry but unable to – you’re trying to _feel_ but your mind keeps telling you _no you can’t, you shouldn’t, you shouldn’t care so much: it makes you weak._ You find the switch that makes you stop feeling eventually, pulling up and covering, and _hiding_ behind an exterior you’ve created that you hope will protect you.

 _Because I’ll never be happy_ – you think, staring at the boy who’s been there for you but you know will never be more.

_I’m not allowed to be._


	2. Chapter 2

In the months after, you perform a role that doesn’t feel right. It’s strange, being in this skin, and the only thought you keep on having is that you’re _fake. You’re fake; it’s not you –_ it’s a stranger portraying a version of you that doesn’t exist in this universe. But no one seems to notice; that’s how good you’ve become at being someone else.

 You fantasise yourself to be in different, parallel universes sometimes. A world in which you’re still you, but different someway, or somehow. Sometimes your hair is black, you’re not Norwegian, or you have a sibling you fight with all the time. In those universes, your orientation doesn’t exist – or rather, it does. But it’s not a big deal because everyone knows and everyone doesn’t care. It’s comforting to escape to these universes, to know that there’s some version out there who is living the life you wish you could have.

One in which you don’t hide yourself away; where the stone in your stomach doesn’t grow every day, and where your thoughts don’t keep you awake until three in the morning. But that is your universe now.

One in which your hook up from _ungdomsskole_ pulls you into the bathroom at a party and kisses you and you can’t tell her to stop.

\--

In all fairness, Sara doesn’t actually ask a lot from you. Rumours spread saying that she sucked you off that night, and that’s why she became your girlfriend – because she was _so good_. In truth, she’s not touching you anywhere else beyond your lips. There’s an unspoken agreement between you two, an agreement to not go further than you need to. You suspect she’s pretending to be someone, someone cooler or more experienced than she actually is. She strangely feels like a kindred spirit, and it’s nice to hold someone sometimes – even though you’d rather it be someone else.

You get fed up with her bullshit one day though; her talking shit about everyone she meets, as if to make herself feel more superior and better – hurting people in the process. It’s not who you are, or want to be with. You don’t respond to her messages for over a week, and then it’s over.

You never imagined yourself to be so glad to be broken up with.

\--

Your best friend found a new girlfriend; an older one – one you could never compete with. And you’ve resigned yourself to the fact that he’ll never be yours, you _know_ it could never work. But it doesn’t make it sting any less.

In a strange turn of events, his ex-girlfriend and your ex-best friend swings herself at you; trying to kiss you on the mouth while smelling like she’s drunk a bottle of wine all by herself. It’s awkward and weird; you’ve missed her a lot but you still remember her at the end of last year, rightfully angry at you fucking up her relationship.

But then you remember – she thinks you’re into her. And you’re not, but it’s easier to lie than be truthful about you. So you turn her away; asking her to drop it.

Turns out she already has a feeling, asking you if it’s _because you like guys?_

All the blood rushes to your ears, and your legs start to shake a little.

You desperately wish to a God you don’t believe in to stop this universe; to delete it, because you cannot deal with this just yet. Not now.  


You’re not ready.

\--

_Isakyaaaaaaki! What a cute pout you have, very handsome!_

\--

The next few weeks are a whirlwind of emotions; having your best friend beaten up and arranging a fight with a third year who turns out to be pretty cool – helping you in every way he can. The whole situation never seems to stop, really, there’s always something happening.

The world does come to a stop eventually. Your father slammed the door behind him, driving his car full of his stuff away from her, and away from you. The moment you manage to calm her down, to put her to bed, softly stroking her hair and seeing her fall asleep – you pick a bottle from the cellar and you leave.

You run.

\--

You’re not sure if the security guy at the door didn’t realise you were underage or not, but you don’t care really. You are even more adept at pretending than you thought you were. Because that’s all that you are, _fake_ , and even if you did manage to be a nicer person, if that was even possible for you, you’re not sure that anyone would care to know you.

But what you can’t pretend is your family who loves you - your father to be there for you; to hold you when you’re scared and feeling alone. You can’t pretend that there’s nothing wrong with your mother; that her clinging to faith – something she claims makes her love – scares you, thinking she’ll hate. Hate you, and what you desperately want to be.

Because what you see in here is love. People being loved. Two young women dancing together closely, shuffling from side to side; being in their own little world. Three people clinking their glasses together and laughing at their friend’s walk of shame back to their table and hugging fondly when he gets there. Older men, at the bar – a couple, holding each other close and kissing each other’s cheeks.

In a parallel universe, you can see yourself here too.

\--

_Well, look who we have here._

_My dear Isakyaki!_

_Are you okay?_

_\--_

You don’t really understand why Eskild is the way he is, or why he tries to help you so very much it’s almost overbearing. One time you wondered if he had ulterior motives, but he was quick to dispel them – you’re very much too young for him and not his type at all. Instead, he provides you with a place to stay; to sleep whenever you want to; to seek refuge in.

And he never tells a soul.

It feels unfair sometimes: being given so much but never being able to offer anything in return. Eskild calls himself a mother goose, assembling a group of ducklings to care for. You suppose that’s one way to look at it. And you’d never admit it to his face, but it does feel nice. To have someone who you’ve not known for long caring for you, helping you without any questions asked. To be on your own, to find your own place; to allow someone to care for you for once.

But there’s a downside too. He is so much more who he is; he’s not like you – you, _fake you_ , pretending and acting and _being_ someone else. He confronts you; he scares you. That word, that one syllable word you’ve heard so often referring to you – that word you can’t call yourself yet, and you hesitate to say it, but you can't help but think it’s also a tiny bit the truth: you're afraid to call yourself it because of people like him.

He is too _gay_ gay.

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come and find me on tumblr @toneelspeler!
> 
> it's taking me a bit longer to put out these chapters since i got in a little bit of a writing funk and i'm quite busy at work; the second season is so hard to see isak's perspective in, since he's not there most of the time. but i think i got there in the end. 
> 
> also i know that very ending is not very nice, but let me reiterate isak's problem with internalised homophobia - he did quite explicitely mention finding it difficult to be gay with people like eskild being the "stereotypical gay person". (he's very wrong of course, but this is season 2.) and i think it made sense for that to be the end of this chapter. 
> 
> i imagine the next few chapters to be a bit longer. 
> 
> send me a comment if you have any questions (here or on tumblr); or just a comment on the fic itself. i love to hear your guys' thoughts.


	3. Chapter 3

At a certain point you don’t feel like you’re pretending anymore. This is who you are, a boy with girls, a boy who gets the girls, a boy who impresses his friends with girls. A boy who receives congratulatory pats on his back; a boy who turns to stone the minute he’s alone with her. A boy who doesn’t mind kissing, but a boy who can’t.

A boy who can’t go further; who puts his head against the cold tiles of a bathroom just to get a moment to compose himself again. Who needs to breathe, before he gets overwhelmed with anxiety and a heart that doesn’t stop beating. A boy who wants to silence his heart, keeping it quiet and contained, forcing it to feel nothing.

A boy who should have been better at this by now.

\--

You’ve moved upstairs now. A new and cold room is left to you – and you stay because you have nowhere else to go, really. Your father never asked you to come back, diligently giving you money to keep you satisfied wherever you are. He doesn’t even know what your new place looks like. Your mother keeps sending you messages, but never asking where you are. You keep looking at them, hoping that one of them might be a message that asks about you.

It never is.

All of your old room is packed into a backpack; all that you feel you still want, anyway – your television and PlayStation are the only really valuable items you have; leaving behind an empty bedframe, an empty desk, an empty closet.

All for a room that is made your own by only adding a few things. For some reason, adding anything more is scary – it makes it feel too real; a seventeen year old living with roommates because his parents can’t take care of him.

You don’t want to get used to this.

\--

It happens on a Monday.

A Monday not unlike the one before, with friends talking and screaming and joking about things you don’t concern yourself with. You can’t even imagine a world in which this would be different, in which you don’t have to force yourself to talk about girls, or to keep quiet when they do so. It’s just how it is.

But it happens. He’s there. And it starts with a laugh.

Him sitting there, with his feet propped up on table, smiling and nodding a little. You keep watching, keep staring a little – there’s a voice, a _feeling_ telling you you’ve never felt such an attraction to someone before; to a guy, not like this. He’s magnetic, and just… beautiful, really.

And he’s looking back. _Shit._

\--

You don’t see the guy after that encounter in the cafeteria, not that day at least, and so you forget – just a little.

But there’s still that feeling, that feeling of maybe, of _if._ That has never been an option in your mind before. But you tell yourself that it’s just you, trying to make up things that aren’t real. You’re just wishing things that cannot be.

He shows up at the most unlikely places though – first, at a Kosegruppa meeting from which you disappear within five minutes, and then, in the bathroom; picking paper from the dispenser and giving you a dirty one to clean up. His eyes are intense, mysterious and so weirdly piercing – and you know that this should all creep you out a little, but you just become intrigued. And it’s not as if you know any better, maybe… this is just how boys flirt with each other.

Outside he saved a seat for you, and a smoke, and the moments beyond are awkward, and so silent, and you’re scared shitless but you’d like to try – just for once, to try out being someone you’ve wanted to be. Just for once, and that’s all you need. He jokes about dicks, and touching them, and you start to wonder. But the conversation is brief and cut short by the girl you kissed a few days ago – because, apparently, the universe is still telling you to not be you, to be that one, that person who woos girls and keeps them hanging on.

But he’s still there, and he offers you help. And he gets a name.

He is called Even.

\--

Your feeling you had the very first time you saw him, that feeling that you’re feeling attracted, that you could crush on this person very easily – it keeps you going, and it keeps you searching, for any evidence that might indicate whether this guy might be just what you’re looking for.

But there’s no evidence, not really – there’s no social media, so you can’t see whether he’s had boyfriends, or girlfriends, or anything else.

So you take your next best bet; Eskild, who for some reason keeps on asking you for advice on guys. But it feels odd to call a guy handsome; you just _cannot_ call them hot, or attractive, or cute, for some reason – such an admission gets stuck inside your throat, and swells up anxious waves inside your stomach. There’s a voice telling you; _that’s only for girls to say. You’re not a girl._

You’re still uncomfortable with Eskild, that much hasn’t changed – but he does know about boys, and sexualities, so you allow yourself just one question. That shouldn’t be too harmful.

Except for when his answer confirms that which your gut already told you was true, as if Eskild knew.

Talking about sucking dicks to strangers is really suspicious.

\--

You manage to add two names to Even, making him more real – watching him on screen, knowing that he’s existed for longer than you’ve known him (or conjured him up to be). And hearing him, his laugh, and seeing his smile, and getting to know his interests and thoughts; seeing him on the courtyard slowly walking by and staring back at you; and watching that clip over and over, and searching for him online over and over, and watching movies you wouldn’t allow yourself to watch without knowing he – another guy – was into romances like this too -

You’re getting in way deeper with this guy than you bargained for.

\--

Still, not much has happened between the two of you, so you try to keep telling yourself that it’s all in your head, that you’re just imagining things – but you fail miserably. For the first time in months, or maybe even years, you _feel_ things; your heart racing, just for a few seconds, whenever you think of him – that unattainable being, who keeps appearing in your dreams and is always smiling at you in them.

But then he suddenly turns up at your side in a tram; it’s awkward at first but you’ve gained some confidence, and you see an opening – to keep him at your side just a little longer. And it’s so much easier after that to stay, to be around him, to talk and laugh and you think, _maybe, just maybe – I’m allowed to be._ You keep staring, and you know he sees you, and he doesn’t mind – he smiles back, too. The outside world tries to butt in, sending you messages that you should answer, but you don’t want to; you push them away, quickly answering and returning to him, the boy who stops the world around you when you’re with him. And you know that you’ve never felt this way with anyone; the ease, the laughter, the kindness he affords you with his jokes and his eyes and his voice. You can see yourself _with_ him, holding his hand; brushing through his hair; looking deeply into his eyes and knowing you’re allowed.

This is the first time you could see yourself kissing someone – a boy – and not wanting to turn to stone afterwards. You want to be you with him, and you truly think - you hope - you can.

But this was all a fairytale, and you should’ve known. You’ve never hated yourself more for believing that maybe you could be yourself someday when he introduces his girlfriend to you.

\--

Afterwards, you can’t sleep. It’s not a thing that’s entirely new – you’ve been unable to sleep for a few days now, and if you’re honest with yourself it’s been ever longer, certainly for weeks. There’s a feeling of anger in you; anger at him for letting you think it could even be anything, but also anger at yourself – frustration, really, that _you_ let yourself think it could even be anything.

The situation with your mother also doesn’t help.

In your frustration, you decide to be petty and search for a test to see whether you’re actually gay. The questions you answer are not for you – they’re for someone like Eskild, someone who is actually gay, not like you. So you answer the questions, and sometimes you hesitate on an answer knowing the effect it would have on the result; and in the end, you’re barely there. You can’t even call yourself it, the test says – it’s only twenty percent.

So maybe you should try: you know you are, you are gay, but maybe there’s a way to not be. You search for ways to force yourself to like girls, because you’ve tried before and it didn’t work and this time it should.

You can’t afford yourself the same heartbreak again. You’d rather pretend, to take up that mask again, and be fake.

Fake. That’s all you can be.

\--

You start with apologizing to her. The girl everyone sees you with, with whom the rumours already are around so it’s not weird to go for her. You know she’s into you, and while you know you will never reciprocate her feelings, she’s the easiest target – and she’s already into you.

It takes you two minutes to get into her good graces again.

You barely blink.

\--

The boys decide to join in on a dance audition, lying that they’re there for moral support, and with an eye roll the dance director lets them sit there – probably already knowing it’d be useless to ask them to go away.

Internet told you that you should drink, and look at girls, and try to make them attractive to you – but you realise that it would never work without alcohol for you. You look at them and objectively know, yes – they are attractive, because that’s everyone and everything always told you they are. Their curves are in the right spot, their movements are slow and alluring, their smiles are fun and beautiful.

It’s just not working for you. It never has, and it angers you – that for some reason you had to be the one who falls in love with boys, instead of someone else. It would make the world so much easier for you; but clearly it’s still not willing to throw you a bone in any way.

Then he shows up, casually throwing a snapback in your lap asking you if it’s yours. This is getting too close for comfort – you want him to go, to not talk, to not respond at all and leave – but he doesn’t. He answers.

The universe threw you a bone.

\--

You’ve dreaded this party ever since last Friday, knowing that Even would have to show up there and you’d have to be in proximity with each other. When Emma comes in, you pull her towards the couch and tangle her in conversation while trying to get as much beer in you as you can without completely getting drunk.

He arrives. You see him. With her.

His eyes are piercing, and you feel a faint flutter in your stomach; one that you wish you could stop – it angers you, that he still has that effect on you. So you take swig of beer and start kissing her, to punish him and to punish _you_ ; for _letting_ him have that effect on you.

Of course, you should’ve known it was never meant to last, as he drops in and breaks you too up. He keeps on trying to find contact with you but you try to keep your distance – you can’t and won’t let yourself get hopeful again. But his response to Eskild surprises you, and it feels like it’s meant for you in some way. It feels like his response to the snapback question a few days ago – it’s as if he just instinctively _knows_ what you need to hear.

When you’re dancing with her, you can’t stop staring; maybe his response earlier was a way to let you in, to let you know that he’s still a possibility. You imagine her lips to be his – and when his eyes open straight unto yours, you _feel_ like he _is_ a possibility.

And he edges closer, and he removes the walls you’ve tried to build, and he makes you smile and makes you tense, and he makes you unravel when he gets close; and he tries to kiss you, and it isn’t in your mind –

And you _know_ he is a possibility.

\--

He can’t see you that weekend but he does show up at your locker; inviting you for a party. He’s not implying that you’ll be with only you two, but you feel that he wants it to be. Ever since that almost-moment, you feel that he wants to create a finally-moment; sending weird memes that he must know make you laugh.

Finding out his girlfriend and your ‘girlfriend’ are supposed to be there too puts a damper on things. His demeanor is closed off, arguing with his girlfriend and wanting to run away after she leaves.

You follow.

\--

Even.

 _Even_.

Even –

You are intoxicated with him; being kissed by him underwater and kissing him return. You’d expected the world to change drastically when you would kiss him for the first time; maybe the world would collapse or maybe you’d wake up and realise it was a fever dream all along – but it isn’t and it doesn’t change.

 _You_ change – you kiss him and you feel you have control over something for the first time in ages. You control your feelings, and your thoughts, and you let them in; your heart has been silenced for too long, beating too softly for you to know it was still there. But it is, and so you decide it is okay.

You feel raw; bare, when you come to the surface – you feel seen, and you _feel_ new.

This kiss has changed you irreversibly.

\--

That night, he sleeps in your bed, in your clothes.

In your arms.

He smells like your shampoo.

\--

You don’t feel scared, being in his arms. You dare – to touch, to hold, to brush your nose against his. You dare to ask for a kiss, and to kiss him in return. He makes you bold. There’s no one who you’ve told your story to before, that story of your parents; a rather nightmarish tale, one you wish was in a different universe.

He twirls his finger on your shoulder while you talk and all you can think is this:

Your heart keeps beating, steadily in rhythm. There’s no way you’d want to quiet it down after this; knowing this feeling.

You want to feel it all. Forever with him if you could.

\--

Forever lasted a day or two.

\--

He only shows up a few days later, even skipping school. You’ve been texting him, trying not to show your worry but also just wanting to know here he was.

But now, he’s here. He’s here and telling you that he’s broken up with his girlfriend and wonders how you feel about it all. You almost can’t fight the smile off your face; it just blooms there, and then his face lights up – he kisses you and he holds your hands, brushing his thumbs over your fingers. Your skin tingles a little where he touches you.

He asks you about your parents; whether they’d accept or deny you – and here’s the crux of the matter: you don’t know. You don’t know if your father will care because you don’t know if he even cares about you.

Your mother’s rejection would hurt you most of all. But you’re not ready to tell him that yet. You don’t particularly want to tell him about your mother, but he still pulls it out of you – asking you with a soft voice and eyes and you start; about why she scares you sometimes, and why you try to keep your distance - even though you’d give anything to get her back, and - in the deepest of your hearts - for her to be _normal_.

You know she’ll never be.

Other parents though, Even’s parents; they must be more open to their son dating another guy, since he’s so very comfortable and confident about you two. You don’t wonder about his sexuality all that much; you don’t care if he’s into girls too. You care if he is into you, and if his parents would accept _you._ He tells you, with his fingers stroking into your hair, that they would.

The warmth of his lips burns into yours afterwards.

\--

By now you’ve confirmed for yourself: yes, I’m attracted to boys. Yes, I’m attracted to one in particular. But you can’t tell anyone. Not yet. It’s nice to keep it hidden from the world, to keep it to yourself so that no one can soil it. Not really a secret, no, more like a promise – I won’t tell if you won’t tell, not unless the other wants to tell.

There’s a certain roommate who has been suspicious for a while, however, and you knew this moment was coming the minute he told you he had seen him in the bathroom. All things considered, Eskild isn’t the worst option to come out to – he might even be the safest. So you see it as a test, when he gives you a lavender-scented gift and pushes you softly to tell him about Even.

_Here you go. If I’m going to be honest, I’m going to be honest._

It backfires spectacularly. It’s all your fault too; you’re not trying to be offense or trying to put people down, really not. It wasn’t your intention. But maybe, you realise, you’re not trying to be fair to people who do go through the same process as you do. Before you get further along in the admission of guilt – like you’re only able to fuck up lately – you get a text.

It seems like God took it upon himself to punish you.

\--

You –

_You need to leave._

There are only survival instincts now.

Fight.

Fly -

Breathe.

You cannot _breathe._

_You cannot breathe._

\--

Whenever you try to get some rest, to close your eyes and breathe; there are sentences, thoughts, going round and round in your head.

_Sleep is the cousin of death._

_You look hot when you’re sleep-_

Your body tenses when they do; fingers pull into fists, legs pull up to curl into a ball, breathing becomes laboured – difficult, like your lungs don’t want to work like they should.

No sleep for you today. Tomorrow. Yesterday.

\--

Going back to school is worse than you imagined; there’s her, there’s him, there are no friends on your side. Sleep is still a long way away. Your grades, one of the things you used to be able to _control_ , are slipping because you can’t focus, you can’t concentrate. It feels like a bomb is inside of you; a bundle of nerves filled with secrets and feelings you almost can’t hide anymore – it’s threatening to come out and you don’t know what exactly will come out when it does.

A bit of bitterness seeps out when you see him again; a bit of laughter too; and a bit of anger when you can’t deal with his mournful eyes anymore.

You make an appointment with the nurse the next day. You just need _some_ sleep.

\--

The next evening, you search through your message history with your best friend, reminding yourself of the way he’s _always_ been there for you. How many times he had asked you to come over, or had offered to come, when you told him your parents were in a bad spot again. How he had even offered this week to listen when you were ready to tell him.

It’s like he knew. It’s like he’s always known.

And objectively, you know he probably won’t mind. After Eskild, he is your safest bet.

So you do – you don’t call yourself _it_ just yet. You just want him to know that you’ve been in love with a boy for a while now, and pretending or faking is just isn’t an option anymore. It hasn’t been ever since you kissed that boy in a pool.

His acceptance happens without as much as a wink; only caring about the boy in question, and what your relationship with him is now – if there are any burdens he needs to help you with or needs to carry with you. Even if it’s just a small cartoon from the boy you still adore.

Jonas has always cared about your heart.

\--

Although you are, in fact, yourself a boy, you have difficulties seeing a boy in a different light: that of a potential lover. There are clichés about women; that they never tell what they’re looking for, that they play hard to get, and always go for the bad guys – most of them, you assume, are horrendously wrong. That was never your experience dating them.

But this is the first time it’s a guy. Unfortunately, the only one who’s been an expert in that regard is the one who you hurt so deeply before. He has forgiven you but that’s only been through text messages, so you figure the only way to truly know how it’s all going between you two is by asking him for advice.

And you thought it would be weird, or uncomfortable, discussing boys with him, but it actually turns out quite alright. Except for the soul-crushing perspective he offers. But then that’s Eskild.

He’s never been anything but brutally honest.

\--

Eskild offers you news guys to meet to get over him; it’s so very kind and thoughtful and you’re genuinely moved.

You’re just not ready yet.

\--

Turns out it was never your choice to be ready or not. You just have to be.

Sana’s inquisitive face and silence scares you a little – the text is not even that questionable since it’s from Vilde; you panic a little, not knowing what Sana is going to do next. If she’s going to tell everyone, or just back off entirely. Your recent discussion of religion with her has been awkward, and deep down you know it’s all because of your desire to know. To get some insight into a religious’ person’s perspective on sexuality, because you’ve been lost as to how to approach this with your mother.

Sana leaves.

And your- your _thing_ with Even is running through the rumour mill.

\--

Maybe these moments are not something you can really prepare yourself for – it came naturally with Eskild, and it was a necessity with Jonas. But with your other two friends, whom you have only truly known for a few months now, it’s less predictable – you still hear them saying _are you gay!._  You had wanted to take this conversation to Friday, to tell them in the comfort of your apartment. But when they discuss the incident at Emma’s, it feels like it’s the most opportune moment yet, with Jonas at your side.

You tell them. You tell them you’ve had a thing, because that’s what people say – they have a _thing_ , as if using that word makes it seem less heavy; we’ve just had a _thing_. What you had with Even wasn’t just a thing. But that’s what people say.

What people also say is that gay men like every man they see, that it is difficult for heterosexual men to be friends with a gay guy; who knows what they want from you. This is the fear you’ve had all along – that once you disclosed that one piece of information about yourself, that people or friends would see you as different, as someone to reject and keep your distance from. So once you tell them you’ve had a thing with a guy, you try to protect yourself – saying that you’re not gay (but maybe just a little), and that just because you’re attracted to guys it doesn’t mean you like _every_ guy you see. Because you don’t. You just like one.

And their reaction is not bad; Mahdi – so very kind and knowledgeable – stirs the conversation into different sexualities and mentions one you think might apply to Even. You wince a little when you hear _that_ word, but it’s Magnus; not the sharpest tool in the shed sometimes. You give it as good as he gives it.

The bomb, that bundle of nerves, inside your chest dissipates entirely when they clap your back with huge smiles on the way to your next class.

\--

If it wasn’t for their help, you wouldn’t have had the courage. You know that for sure. And you had been scared they might have felt obligated, that they would stop talking about girls and overcompensate by asking about guys. But they don’t – they’re lovely, only talking about the guy in question and wanting to help. They take your problems seriously.

You wish you had told them sooner.

Then again, they could have been quicker in removing themselves from the apartment. There’s a million thoughts and feelings going through you when you walk up to the front door, scared of the possibilities of what lies beyond. You’re ready to make it work. You can only hope he will want to too.

With a low voice that turns all the thoughts in your head into mush, it turns out he does want it too. The moment you touch him, there’s no stopping you. You craved this, craved _him_ for far too long.

You’ve never wanted to touch and be touched by anyone more.

\--

The next weekend is a whirlwind of firsts; firsts seeing and touching each other intimately – firsts in admitting your feelings – firsts of agreeing to be boyfriends: you’ve never felt like this before. You seal it with kisses upon kisses, everywhere you can reach.

Even in the wildest of your dreams you never imagined that love could feel like this; how safe you could feel with a person, and how exciting it is to discover them, and how you can forget the world around you when he’s in your arms brushing his nose against yours.

How at home you can feel with a person who is singing and dancing in your kitchen.

\--

It is a little vindictive, telling your father you have a boyfriend through a text, but, well, it’s not like he hasn’t deserved this. If he would have been there, at home with your mother and you, it might have been different. But this is your universe now. And this is the way you tell him.

He thinks it’s a joke, decides for you that you shouldn’t tell your mother. Of course.

First parent down – disaster. Maybe you should just skip the second one.

But then Sana comes in, and offers you a perspective that you’ve never heard before. She tells you she was wrong about homosexuality and evolution – that one you don’t blame her for, it’s not like you had different views about that. Asking the question that’s on the tip of your tongue, you see her eyes harden and you almost expect her not to answer at all.

She does, and she comforts, she supports and she’s sweet - and you grow so fond of her in that moment, whispering a soft thank you when you leave the classroom.

Maybe you should tell the second parent.

\--

Your boyfriend meeting your best friends is surprisingly easy; something you should’ve known in hindsight. Even is nothing but a charmer to everyone he meets. He looks at you to gauge how you’re doing, if you’re really okay with it all – but even after just a few days of being official, he’s already capable in reading your face. Soft smiles; exaggerated winks.

How quickly the mood changes. The resulting phone call and conversation leave you with a bitter taste in your mouth.

\--

You can’t tell her, through the phone or in person. You text your mother.

\--

_Isn’t this man beautiful?                                              This is my boyfriend!_

_Don’t you think we will get married?_

_How many Isaks and Evens are lying like this right now?_

_Baby, come lie down with me, please._

_Even? EVEN?_

                              _He’s going to get beat up! He’s walking around naked!_

_He’s manic._

DO YOU REALLY THINK HE’S IN LOVE WITH YOU? IT’S JUST A SICK IDEA HE HAS RIGHT NOW.

_IN LOVE WITH YOU?_

                A SICK IDEA.

_A SICK IDEA._

**_A SICK IDEA._ **

\--

Darkness is crashing around you, swallowing you whole.

Your mother provides a light.

\--

There’s no way you would ever hate him. You don’t. You won’t.

You _miss_ him – him, the boy who made you feel like you were the only one; who made you believe in yourself, in your ability to be yourself after years of pretending – of being fake. He nudged you into being brave. And you keep on thinking, and remembering all the times you were together – talking, dancing, or kissing, or that time in the hotel when you became closer to him than you’ve ever been to other people.

Even is _your_ person. Hate isn’t a word you associate with him.

\--

Magnus turns out to be a bit less of an idiot than you thought he was. It almost seems like a running joke at this point; all the ideas you had of people, and what they turned out to be.

But he’s gentle and direct, telling you that your idea this time around is wrong again; that people with mental illness are just as normal as people without them. You’re ashamed, terribly so, since you haven’t afforded them the same kindness they – your mother, your… boyfriend – have shown you until now.

The least you can do is reach out and hope they’ll still want you too.

\--

There’s no denying seeing your mother again isn’t strange, but even a small hug feels like a door has opened – open for communication, and for seeing each other again.

Even if it’s in a church.

\--

_O helga natt, du frälsning åt oss gav._

\--

You feel renewed and bare, like you did in the pool, with him in your arms again, swaying lightly.

Warming him up, soothing him – and you. Making sure he’s feeling _you_ , _feeling_ that he’s not alone, and knowing you’re there for _him._

Just as he has been there for you.

You and him, together. You feel holy.

\--

Depression is insidious; it invades a mind and tells it stories and facts and feelings that aren’t true at all. You have no idea what you’re doing. Going on your instincts is the best you can do, texting his ex at intervals if it gets too heavy.

In the end, all you really do is be there, to remember him from time to time – it’s only one day, one hour, or a minute at a time.

On a Wednesday, he’s out of bed looking freshly showered and clothed in your softest hoodie and sweatpants and he smiles. _Oh, that smile_. Kissing him then feels so very sweet; eager to kiss your smile against his again. These are the moments you can enjoy enormously, laying at his side and just looking into his eyes; knowing he’s not judging you for being grumpy, but finding a way to make you marvel at him. It’s cliché to say, but it does feels like you both fell in love at the same time.

At first sight.

\--

Although the word gay is still a little too big, too confirming, you haven’t had real confrontation with people regarding you being in a relationship with a guy. The boys don’t even mind you being attracted to guys at all, asking you to rate them in fuckability. A year ago, you would have not wanted to have been caught dead saying you’d fuck Jonas first, but now it’s a bittersweet memory and you can laugh about it. Any opportunity to make fun of Magnus’ love life, you take it.

Unfortunately, your relationship with girls have started to change too – there are some of them that just see you as an accessory now; _now_ you’re interesting, _now_ you’re dating a guy. And you know that they might think it comes from a good place, to show that _hey, gay is okay!_

Which it is. But you’ve never been so happy to have Kosegruppa party to attend as an excuse.

\--

After all this time, the stone inside your stomach has been replaced with a slow flickering candle. You feel warm inside, knowing that you have your people, and that they have you. That there are people you _want_ to spend Christmas with, without feeling obligated to.

You feel like you finally belong, in a myriad of best friends, old friends and new, and in the arms of a handsome boy who took your breath away and asked you –

_Who do you want to be?_

And while you didn’t know for the longest time, you know the answer now.

_I want love; I want to give it wholeheartedly and without fear, and be worthy of receiving it._

_I want to care, for people and for myself._

_I want to be here, and not in the endless possibilities that I’ve dreaded and feared all my life._

_I just want to be me._

_Plain old, loving me._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> voila!! this has been a labour of love, jeez louise! i still feel like i didn't include everything but damn, i tried. please let me know what you think! the comments i've received on previous chapters warmed my soul, truly, and made me push on with this one.
> 
> thank you for reading <3


	4. Chapter 4

On the first school day after the Christmas’ break has ended, he wakes up in your bed. He’d asked if it might be possible for him to go and stay with you the night before, so that you could go back to school together. It’s his first day back after his episode in December. You take his hand and kiss his palm, saying that you’d be there to weather the storm with him anytime he needed it.

_You’re so dramatic._

_Look at who I’m in love with then._

Oh yes. That happened too.

\--

It starts with leaning against him, in the tram to school; to feel his warm shoulder against yours and seeing a small smile appear on his face when you do. You stare at each other, matching his smile on your face. He never asks you to do more than you feel comfortable with, so you don’t – you want to be honest in that towards him.

Words and touches – more than this – still frighten you. There’s a bolt inside of you every time you get too close to him in public, a feeling telling you _no, not here. Not yet._ You told him once, about that feeling; you had a long conversation afterwards, telling you that it is not wrong for you to touch him in public – that it is quite normal, in fact, and that he would really like you to. But that he understands if it’s too much, for now.

So it’s small baby steps. It’s a touch of shoulders in a tram; it’s loosely throwing your arm around his chair in the cafeteria; it’s holding his hand under the table at a pre-party.

It’s feeling relief when no one seems to notice. Or maybe no one really cares.

Slowly, you become bolder in your actions; letting him kiss your cheek when he meets you at your locker and giving him one in return when you leave for class. When you get there, your phone buzzes.

_I love you._

\--

Moving in together at seventeen and twenty years old should be scary. It should be; but it isn’t. You’ve never felt surer about making the decision to ask him. Because although your relationship with your parents is slowly improving, there’s no bone in your body that wants to submit yourself back under that level of stress again. It hasn’t been home in a long time.

Home is a tall, swoopy-haired, blue-eyed, handsome boy who cares for you in ways that no one has ever done before. You love him immensely, and he makes you so happy, that all you want to do in return is show that same level of care and happiness that he gives you.

He made you want to feel when all you wanted to do is quiet down.

Home is a bed with him in it.

\--

Moving in together is also a confirmation; yes, we are two guys. Yes, we are living together, and yes, we share a kitchen, shower, and a bed. And it’s in here, during the cleaning up of a lovely-made dinner with Eskild that escalated into him telling you all about his new fling of the week, that you have another conversation; telling him of your fears to call yourself that. That which Eskild has no trouble in saying all the time. Your fear of being seen differently because of a little word that shouldn’t change a thing at all.

And he nods, and he listens – and that’s one of the things that you love about him; he waits, until you’ve formed your thoughts and words and only at the very end he provides another view if you need it. He instinctively knows.

Then he tells you – it’s you, and your decision and your feelings are valid. But then there’s the turning point: don’t dismiss who you are based on what others think of it. It makes you hate the word, and in return it might make you hate yourself – for just wanting to identify.

_Just look at us all, Isak. Eskild, you and me. We all fall in love with the same gender. Look at how different we are at the same time. We’re more than who we fall in love with, and as long as we know that of ourselves... that’s all that really matters. To me._

So, after that conversation, after you’ve put the last dish away in the cabinet and you’re sitting down on your bed waiting for Even to finish choosing the movie of the night, you say it. Heart-pounding, head on his shoulder, in a whisper even you can barely hear:

_I’m gay._

And he, putting down the remote, folds you into his arms and kisses the top of your head, telling you how proud he is of you; not only for admitting this to you, but for being so very brave in so many aspects in your life – in taking care of yourself, in taking care of him, and taking care of so many people around you.

And in the end, you realise this: you want him to love you for the rest of your days.

\--

Now you kiss in windowsills in empty classrooms. It’s a long way from that day in his windowsill.

\--

When you see Sana looking at a picture of Mikael on her laptop you can’t help but be interested; it’s the only proof you have of him being interested in men before you, and while you’ve never been very inquisitive regarding his sexuality – this? This previous man of his life? It’s something different.

Because you have suspicions, and you have your theories, about his life before Nissen. You’ve always felt that the truth would come eventually and you weren’t really into finding out forcefully from him. But your brain is making connections between your new friend and his old friend and when you ask Even about Mikael again he’s distant and changes the subject quickly. And then she’s not telling you anything either.

It makes you imagine things you’d rather not have happened to him. You want him to be okay – to be able to come to you with anything on his mind; but it’s not happening and it worries you. You’re just curious to know.

Eventually, you find out with a punch.

\--

Normally, you’d ask him to sit his ass down the moment he would’ve gone up to sing a song in the karaoke bar – you love him, you do; but there’s a limit to how much you want to be public about it. Still, he wore you down this time, kissing you on the cheek repeatedly and, honestly, he’s so happy about it that you can’t deny him this.

When they come in, the panic in his eyes remind you of more difficult times. In return, you panic a little and decide to do the first thing that comes to your mind: you go and sing _with_ him. You hold him tightly, trying to make him focus on you and on his happiness that was just there moments before.

Explanations will come later.

\--

After that fight, he tells you everything. About him, about her, about them. About himself.

And although you don’t really believe in parallel universes that much anymore, there’s still one thing you’re in awe of the universe for.

The fact that you two got to meet at the exact moment you needed.

\--

In a previous year, you would have never taken the fall for Sana; because you didn’t understand her, her perspective and her religion. But if she hadn’t been there for you when you needed it, you would’ve never found the courage to tell your mother the truth – you’d probably be still in the closet, at least for a long while.

She _was_ there, though. She was there for you _and_ for him. So this time, you’ll be there for her.

For the first time – outside of him - you call yourself gay.

In the bones of you, you and Sana are very similar people – not wanting to bother other people with your troubles, you hide yourself away and isolate yourself from people, becoming bitter and afraid that people will start to know the truth. That you are a sham; that you will never be loved in the way you want to be; that the world is never on your side. That it is all your fault.

But it isn’t. It’s in the making of the world around you; a world that is every changing but does so at a very slow pace when the people in it are desperate for it to be faster. So that it can change lives, save people’s hearts. For understanding and kindness to take over; for people to be willing to educate themselves instead of defending themselves against their faults.

It takes a while. It will take a while. You don’t think that any other person in Nissen knows better than you and Sana do.

That’s why you’re there for her – even if you realise afterwards you’ve done so in a less than satisfactory manner.

People need to know they’re not alone.

\--

You never ask him. It’s not a question that comes up often, because you find yourself not really caring all that much. If anything, the past few months have taught you that people will come to you and tell you when they’re ready – and so it was this time around. It’s never been an issue.

Until he asks you; asks whether you ever wondered about _his_ sexuality. His eyes wide, with a hint of apprehension in them, as if he’s waiting for an answer he has had a thousand times before. _Oh yes, all the time – what exactly are you anyway huh? Are you gay? When are you going to make your choice?_

But no, that’s not your response, because it’s not your question. Your question is this:

_Do you want to talk about it?_

And it surprises – you see it in his rapid blinking and his eyes looking away. He’s thinking deeply, you know because he’s got the same face every time he is, and you want to smooth the frown on his face and kiss his temple to make him smile again. But you don’t, you leave him be, leave him to think.

Eventually, he looks up again.

_Maybe. I don’t know._

You smile fondly.

_Okay, let’s talk._

\--

**_god pride mnd peeps._ **

\--

It’s still scary. You’ve become quite comfortable calling yourself gay now; not finding it a scary, all-affirming word anymore. But in that bubble of comfort, of people knowing and not caring – there are still people who do. People who call you homophobic slurs, who tell you you’re disgusting for kissing your boyfriend.

A boyfriend who means _everything_ to you.

You lash out; you scare yourself a little too, not knowing whether the perpetrator would decide to actually come and fight you. Maybe, if it weren’t for said boyfriend, you would’ve actually fought him too.

But Even always knows – and it’s not until you look into his eyes that you realise how fiercely you reacted as he doesn’t let you look away. It’s in his hands, his eyes and his low, slow voice that you find your gravity again; he pulls you down from up high, and keeps you steady through a range of emotions that you go through in seconds. Because, at the end, he’s there. Ready to help.

Ready to remind you who you love.

Ready to remind you to focus on them.

\--

Your story is as follows:

 

You started crushing on your best friend at age 15, and at age 16 you realised it was never to work out.

You fell in love at first sight at age 17 with a handsome, pansexual guy, amidst a whirlwind of leaving home, living on your own, inability to communicate and to let yourself love and be loved.

You became who you are at age 17 –

A person who loves, and fights for that love, and who isn’t afraid of being gay anymore.

 

At age 18, you’re Isak.

That’s all you truly need to know.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you, everyone. it's been a wild ride.  
> <3

**Author's Note:**

> it's been a while. i'm not sure how quickly this will go, but i'll try!
> 
> come and find me on tumblr @toneelspeler!


End file.
